


Vers

by theoncomingwolf



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abduction, Amnesia, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mind Manipulation, Pre-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25386820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoncomingwolf/pseuds/theoncomingwolf
Summary: Carol’s dead, she thinks. Really fucking dead, for sure, because Dr Lawson is standing in front of her.Now that she is not too preoccupied by dying to think, she is able to recall enough of her recent memory to know that her mentor is no longer alive, and therefore if she is standing in front of her, then neither is she.[Carol, in the days after her abduction by the Kree.]
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	Vers

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to clean up a fic from my drafts that I wrote ages ago, when the movie came out/
> 
> Enjoy!

Carol wakes up in pain.

Whatever happened to her, she knows it’s bad. Carol has, in her life, had broken arms, wrists, ribs; has needed bandages, and stitches; has hid injuries, so that consequently they hurt worse and for longer than they would have... and still, she finds herself twitching uncomfortably, her conscious mind not quite able to process the amount of pain she is in, or what to do with it. She finds herself mumbling aloud, although she knows that if help were going to be offered it would be given already.

And perhaps it will be, she thinks, as she feels a rough hand settle on her forearm. It does not make the pain any better or worse, but it gives her something to focus on.

Carol cracks an eye open in the harsh light, staring at the man before her. He is speaking, she knows, and she recognizes him, she knows, but something is wrong with her, and she can only process so much at a time.

The lights above her are too bright, and her head is pounding, like an alarm trying desperately to alert her to the fact that she is dying. The man keeps speaking, his low voice rumbling in the background of the nothing she hears so clearly and loudly. 

\--

Carol wakes up, in no pain.

She’s dead, she thinks. Really fucking dead, for sure, because Dr Lawson is standing in front of her.

Now that she is not too preoccupied by dying to think, she is able to recall enough of her recent memory to know that her mentor is no longer alive, and therefore if she is standing in front of her, then neither is she. That man must have killed her, Carol thinks, the man from the beach, the man from the too-bright room that she woke up in after.

Dr Lawson smiles uncomfortably, cocking her head curiously at Carol.

Carol looks at her hands; they still look dusty, and bloodied, and she’s still in her flight suit.

“What is your name?” Dr Lawson asks, cooly.

“...Carol?” She answers.

Dr Lawson dips her head, shaking it lightly.

“A shame.”

Carol opens her eyes- her real eyes, like coming out of a dream.

Everything hurts, again. It’s bright, and there is something soft but firm wrapped tightly around her neck. It’s not choking her enough to kill her, but her throat twitches uncomfortably against the pressure. Her wrists are bound as well, Carol realizes, holding her tightly against the table she’s laying across. 

Carol’s gaze darts to the left, unable to move her head, and the strain of trying to catch what is in her peripherals causes the pain behind her eyes to spike.

It’s that man again. The one from the beach.

He is sitting, reclined somewhat in a chair beside her, wrist palm-up. A blue wire snakes from his arm, disappearing below her line of sight.

“She’s awake,” he growls.

Carol shuts her eyes.

His rough hand indelicately takes hold of her face.

“Tell me, soldier,” he asks, “what is your name?”

“Captain Carol Danvers,” she croaks, trying to say more but choking. Her mouth is dry, her throat feels bruised, and her lungs ache.

“Mm,” a woman hums, from somewhere behind her, “too bad.”

“We’ll keep trying after she’s stable.”

The tendrils begin to recede from her throat. She moves her head around, swallowing uncomfortably, but finds that her wrists are still shackled to the table. Now that she is able to crane her head, Carol notes, with alarm, that there is a blue wire similarly protruding from her own arm.

“Wh-”

“You should lie still,” the man sighs, leaning back in his seat, “we are trying to save your life.”

\--

Saving her life, according to the aliens who abducted her, entails the removal of all her ‘useless’ human blood, and a full transfusion of their ‘sanative’ ‘Kree’ blood. It’s blue, like Dr Lawson’s. Like... Mar-Vell’s.

“Your body could not handle the power you’ve been given,” the man tells her, “it would have killed you if not for us. You should be grateful.”

Carol doesn’t feel grateful. She’s scared, truthfully.

She yearns for the life she had this morning, when everything was normal; aliens weren’t real, she wasn’t restrained constantly, she didn’t have to wonder when she would see Maria and Monica again, she had her red fucking human blood in her body, and her arms didn’t glow every time she felt particularly panicked.

They do so now, heating up the shackles at her wrist, and Carol feels a sharp, painful jolt at the back of her neck. The glowing stops.

“Where am I?” she wheezes.

“On a ship. We are taking you to Hala, where you will have the honor of serving the Supreme Intelligence.”

Carol sucks in a slow breath, pulling back the emotions buzzing in her chest before they start spilling out at this man. She wants to cry, to beg him to take her home, to her family, but she fears it’s futile. She really seems to be dying, like he said, but she doesn’t really think they’re saving her life out of the kindness of their hearts. She’s a prisoner here, clearly.

“Is this because I destroyed the- the core?”

“Yes,” the man says sternly.

“What would have happened if I didn’t?” Carol asks. 

While she’s somewhat pitying herself at the moment, she still knows that it was the right thing to do. Lawson told her lives were at stake, that people would die if they got a hold of it.

“We would have killed you and taken it,” he says simply, “for the good of all Kree.”

She remembers something else. Where was it that Lawson had told her she was really from?

“Where are you taking me?” Carol mumbles, hoping he’ll repeat their destination. Hala, wasn’t it?

Her head swims as she shivers, another wave of pain traveling through her body like electricity.

“Well, some part of her memory is going,” the woman behind her says, disdainfully.

Something beeps urgently near Carol’s head as her vision loses focus.

“It’s not working. She really is going to need a full transfusion,” the man curses, “I don’t have enough for that in one go.”

“I’m not helping.”

“No, no, just one donor is safest. Who knows what her primitive body can take,” he says, “We’ll get her a full medical check-up soon.”

Who is he calling primitive, Carol thinks. 

Then she stops thinking.

\--

“What’s your name?” Lawson asks.

Carol’s dressed in her flight jacket, a t-shirt, and a pair of jeans, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She cocks her head curiously at her C.O..

“I-  _ Carol _ , Doc.”

Wait.

Lawson’s dead, isn’t she?

\--

Carol wakes up in a hospital bed. It’s comfier than the table, but she’s still shackled in place. Again, something slithers away from her neck, and Carol catches a glimpse of it out of her eye.

She jolts up, trying to get away from it, and the metal at her wrists digs painfully into her skin, bruising her at best, though she worries it’s cut her.

“Stay down!” the man from before barks, grabbing a fistfull of her hair and shoving her head back into the pillow. 

He moves carefully, his other arm held unnaturally as he tries not to jostle the blue wire snaking from his vien. Again, it’s in her own elbow as well. 

A blood transfusion, he’d said before. Blue blood, like Lawson’s.

He drops back heavily in his chair.

“How are you feeling?” he asks; the words are polite, but he still sounds angry.

“Like shit,” she says, but she’s feeling better than before, certainly.

He, on the other hand, looks a little worse for wear. 

“What do you want from me?”

“You have been granted incredible power,” he says, “the Kree can use a soldier like you.”

“I don’t want to be your fucking soldier,” Carol says, “I will never serve you.”

“Easy now, Vers,” he says, glancing at his fingers, where he is turning over a jagged piece of metal, “we are working very hard to save your life. I am giving you the very  _ blood _ from my body.”

“Ew,” Carol groans, put off by the way he says those words..

“We will help you to live, to control this power, and in return you will serve us.”

“I won’t.” 

“You won’t, human soldier Carol,” he spins the object again, which she realizes belatedly is a charred section of a dog tag, “but you would if Hala was your true home, noble Kree warrior  _ Vers _ .”

He holds the dog tag up at her, spinning it.

-Vers.

“What are you talking about?” Carol says, “That’s not my name you fucking imbecile, that’s just the last syllable. It’s Danvers.”

“Dan-Vers?” 

“It’s one word.”

He shrugs, staring at the letters pressed into his keepsake.

“I was thinking about you while you lay there, consumed by the energy of the core. Such bravery. You would die for your people, like a true Kree warrior.” he sniffs, staring up at her, “We would never be able to convince a soldier like yourself to serve someone else.”

“You’re right.”

“Yes,” he says, smiling sinisterly at her.

Carol’s stomach churns.

\--

“What’s your name?”

“...Carol,” she says hesitantly.

How did she get here?

\--

Carol opens her eyes, trying to remember where she is.

  
It seems to be a hospital, but... how?

Was it... her father? Did he finally go too far?

There’s an older brunet man sitting by her bedside. She looks at him, startled, but it is a stranger.

No, no. She hasn’t seen her father in years, of course.

Was she in an accident?

Is her family okay?

She looks closer at him. He’s wearing a funny sort of athletic t-shirt, and there’s a blue wire attached to his arm. He looks like he could be USAF. Maybe he’s here to tell her bad news.

“Was- was I brought in with anyone?” she asks.

The man smiles at her, closed lipped, and it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No,” he says, “who are you looking for?”

“Captain Rambeau?”

“Is this person important to you?” he asks, curiously.

That’s a dangerous question. 

Why is it dangerous again?

She wants to insist otherwise, that she and Maria are not so close, but when she thinks about why she must defend this, all she can gather are scattered memories. 

Driving together, flying together. With Monica. With Maria’s mom. Alone, intimate. Sitting on the couch cuddled up together.

Carol falls back into unconsciousness, increasingly unclear memories flitting through her mind as something squishy tightens around her neck and a pressure grows against her temples.

\--

“What is your name?” A woman asks her.

“I...” 

She thinks. 

What is her name?

What’s this other woman’s name? She looks familiar. She tries to picture who she is, recalls a horrible memory of her death. 

The woman was shot to death by- by someone. She doesn’t remember who.

She needs to go home. Maria’s waiting for her.

“Carol,” Carol says at last.

\--

She opens her eyes to find a man sitting at her bedside.

In her arm, there’s a transfusion wire, full of blue blood. 

What color is it supposed to be?

“Hello,” the man greets.

She frowns.

She doesn’t know who he is. She tries to think of how they may know each other, but she struggles to think of how she knows anyone. Of anyone she knows.

“Do you remember what’s happened to you?” he asks.

She doesn’t.

“Your name is Vers,” he tells her, eyes glinting oddly, “you were caught in a Skrull attack.”

\--

“What’s your name?” 

What  _ is  _ her name?

She remembers the woman in front of her, shot to death by a green man.

She remembers someone else, too, a beautiful woman with kind eyes. The thought makes her chest ache, doubly so when she recalls a child with the same deep brown eyes.

They’re important to her... if only she knew who they were. 

There was someone else... a man. Yon-Rogg, he called himself. He was giving her blood, he said, because she was injured in a battle. That’s how she lost her memories, too, he told her.

She thinks to the woman and the child sadly. They must have died in the invasion.

Her name. She knows that, of course.

“My name is Vers.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please consider commenting if you've got a moment. :)
> 
> This is kind of part of my canon-compliant danbeau series, but since it doesn't actually feature Maria or Monica, I've decided not to add it officially to the collection. If you're a fan of Maria/Carol though, check it out!


End file.
